Thunderstorm
by Good old fashioned lover girl
Summary: 1957. It's a stormy night in Liverpool and John Lennon does the possible to help scared Paul McCartney.


England is a country that's known for many things. One of them, impossible not to notice, is the frequency of rainy days.

This night, however, it was not only rain; it was a _huge _thunderstorm, filled with rays and creeping sounds.

The wind was making pressure against the window leading it to create new creeping sounds, along with the already scary thunder noises.

While the nature was going wild outside, inside John Lennon's bedroom Paul McCartney found himself lying on the pile of sheets and eiderdowns that Mimi had arranged next to John's bed to make a comfortable place in which Paul could sleep in the floor without really feeling it. Although the woman had been kind in preparing a little 'mattress' for Paul, it was really uncomfortable, and his body could feel the coldness and roughness of the floor.

The fifteen-year-old boy knew he wasn't going to get any sleep that night. Not only because of the obvious uncomfortable place in which he was trying to sleep that would eventually cause a pain in his back the next morning, but also the circumstances of the night didn't allow him to close his eyes and let himself fall into a peaceful dream.

The noisy wind attacking the window, the thunders cracking in the sky, the rain endlessly falling… ― it was a dreadful night, and he couldn't conceive in his head how come his friend could be sleeping like a log and snoring lightly, obviously not noticing or giving a damn about whatever was going on outside.

Paul's lips were pale and blue-ish, and he was panting ― almost praying ― for the storm outside to be over soon. It was surely scaring him to a point where he could almost feel tears forming in the corner of his eyes.

"John," Paul called, not caring the fact that he was about to wake up the older boy.

But John kept snoring, not showing any interest in waking up any time soon.

"John," Paul tried again, this time a little louder.

Nothing happened.

"John…" This time, Paul tried by caressing his hair lightly to see if that would work. A slight smile began to form in the sound-sleeping teenager.

"John!" Paul was starting to get a little desperate. He grabbed John by his shoulders and shook him roughly, almost violently. "John!" he insisted.

The seventeen-year old boy opened his eyes abruptly and blinked a few times before directing his gaze the younger lad. "What the hell, Paul? I was sleeping!"

"Sorry…" Paul ashamedly whispered.

"Why did you wake me up?" John snapped.

Paul confessed, "I… I can't sleep…"

"And that's a good reason for waking me up?"

"I don't know… I was scared… Well, I _am…_"

"Scared of what?"

"Can't you hear the mess going on outside?"

"I can now," John rolled his eyes.

"Sorry. It just scares the shit out of me."

"Why?" John chuckled. "Can't little Paulie handle a storm?"

"Don't laugh at me!"

"How can I not? Only toddlers get scared by a little storm!"

"It's not a _little _storm! I can feel it from here!"

"See? That's the reason why I knew since the very beginning that I shouldn't hang out with younger wimps like you."

"Hey!" Paul smashed a pillow in John's head. "I'm not a wimp, you idiot."

"Yes, you are, son…"

Paul crossed his arms, "And if I'm not cool or brave enough to be with you, just tell me and I will stop giving you guitar lessons."

"Relax, Paul." John chuckled softly. "I didn't mean it _that _literal, you sensitive sod."

"Oh, shut up."

"My mouth would be very closed up right now, but oh, what can I tell you? Some crazy sod decided to wake me up." John laughed.

"Well, sorry for that, mister."

"Apologize accepted, wimp."

"I told ye I'm not a wimp!"

"Yes, you are," John giggled. "But you are _my _wimp."

"No, thank you."

"No, what?"

"I don't want to be your wimp!"

"Too late," John grinned. "Because you already are."

"Well," Paul said. "If I have to be your wimp, you have to be my… my…"

John burst out laughing, "Your what? Your knight in shiny armour, princess?"

"No," Paul shot him a death glare. "My… my…"

"Can't think of something good, princess?"

"Don't call me like that! I'm not a fucking girl."

John smiled, "But you act like one,"

"Really?" Paul blinked repeatedly in a girly way on porpoise.

"100% confirmed now, princess."

"I'll be your princess, but you have to be _mine."_

John raised an eyebrow. "Your what?"

"Just _mine_."

"Your John?"

"Yes, _mine._" Paul smiled tenderly.

John smiled back, "I'll be _yours, _then."

"Only mine?" Paul teased.

John nodded, "Only yours,"

"Fair enough." The left-handed shrugged.

"Are you still scared?"

"Because of the storm? No way."

All of a sudden, a _huge _lighting exploded violently making an awful noise and turning off the little lamp on top of John's nightstand. That's when Paul shouted ― almost crying ―, and closed his eyes trying to inhale deep breath.

John chuckled, "You were saying…?"

"Alright," Paul rolled his eyes. "I'm still a little scared."

"Really? Wow, I didn't notice." John sarcastically laughed.

"I guess I really am a wimp,"

"Just a little_, _but that's okay, because your John is here to help you."

"He is?"

"Indeed. Now come here,"

"To your bed?" Paul asked.

"Well, when I had nightmares when I was a little child, I always wanted to have someone I could sleep with. My mother, for instance."

Paul didn't know what to answer to John's explanation, so John continued, "And I guess you must be uncomfortable down there,"

"I _am,_" Paul nodded and immediately jumped to John's bed.

"Better?"

"Definitely."

"Well then. Good night, Paulie." John snuggled to one side of the bed and closed his eyes.

"Good night, John. I… I love you…" Paul whispered, not wanting to have to regret later what he just said.

'_I love you too,'_ John wanted to say, but he didn't. He just grabbed Paul's hand and held it tight, and the two boys fell asleep that way, and _that _was enough for the younger boy, who finally managed to get some sleep in that stormy night.


End file.
